Too Quiet
by TalisDragon13
Summary: Superwholock! The Doctor smells a mystery and begins to recruit the only people he knows can help. A trip to pick up the boys in America and swinging by Baker Street causes more trouble than expected and some flirting ensues when Dean meets Clara. Sparks fly; both good and bad, when the mad duos meet for the first time...
1. The Meeting of the Minds

**December 24****th**** 2013, Manchester, 9pm**

The Doctor stepped out of his TARDIS and frowned. The air smelt funny. And not clown funny either; it was dank and musty and had a hint of rotten eggs. He straightened his bowtie and flicked his suspenders, stepping forward into the alleyway, Clara on his heels. She sniffed.

"Right, even I can smell that one. Was that you?"

"OH. Clara! No, it was like that when we got here."

"Whatever."

"Oh, shut up you. Odd though, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. Kinda smells like… sulphur?"

The Doctor didn't reply, simply pulling out his sonic screwdriver and scanning the general area around them. It buzzed and began flashing ominously, sparking a worried face from Clara.

"Is it supposed to do that? I've never seen it do that before. Is it broken?"

"Of course it's not broken. But… that's impossible!" He smacked the device but the readings stayed the same, "Clara, the sonic is telling me that something impossible is happening. Which means that something very, very dangerous is about to occur."

"Right, so you're saying we have to leave?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying yes. We should leave. Absolutely."

They locked eyes. The Doctor grinned and immediately began walking away from the TARDIS and into the darkness, Clara falling into step beside him.

**December 19****th**** 2013, somewhere in the heart of America, lunchtime**

Dean stretched. They'd been on the road for days, searching for a mystery, for something interesting. Sam had been staring at his phone for an hour.

"Sam, Garth will call if there's anything, but I'm pretty sure you can't will a problem into existence. Honestly, we should be glad when there's nothing to fight: less danger for the innocent bystanders." He didn't have any conviction in his voice though; he was just as bored and stressed as Sam.

Dean glanced in front of them. A small town with probably fifty people living in it was laid out in front of them in complete silence. He rolled his eyes and Sam looked over too.

"Burgers?" He pointed at a small joint at the end of the main road, checking his watch as he did so.

They locked the car and walked into the tiny bar. There were no waitresses to be seen, just one lonely bar tender, a cute smile on her face, her blonde hair falling into her eyes. When she saw them walk in, her eyes drifted over the two of them and noting Dean as the most enthusiastic to see her; beckoned him over. Sam sat down at a booth in the corner facing the window and checked out the menu.

"Uh, two beers and a Cheesy Biters Burger…" He glanced back at Sam, who raised his arm, "oh, sorry, two Cheesy Biters Burgers, please."

The girl nodded and wrote the orders down, fluttering her eyelashes as she disappeared out the back, probably to cook their meals.

"Man, check that out!" Dean nudged his brother, who nodded absent-mindedly and continued staring out the window.

"It's too quiet," Sam said, "not that it's always a bad thing, but, I dunno, something's weird about the silence, like something's going to happen."

Dean nodded, but he wasn't really listening, too busy staring at the girl who'd returned with their food and drink. He thanked her and she blew him a kiss as she went back to the kitchen.

Sam rubbed his eyes, tired from the long, intensely boring days. Dean tucked into his burger, when suddenly there was a whooshing sound, wheezing and stretching, and something blue began to fade into existence just outside the bar.

Both of them stood, knocking things off the table, running out the doors towards the materializing box.

"What the hell is that!?"

**December 19****th**** 2013, two hours later, 221B Baker St**

Sherlock Holmes was bored. Not entirely unusual for him, but nothing had been happening. No interesting murders, no fascinating thefts, not even a brilliant plot twist on a soap opera. John was away with Mary and their daughter and wouldn't get back for another twenty minutes, so for the minutely foreseeable future, life would remain boring. Sherlock sighed.

"God, couldn't some criminals be even remotely interesting?" He stood and began pacing around the room.

Seventeen minutes later, John stepped through the doors and it was like he'd walked into a warzone. Books lay everywhere and pages were floating around the room. There were still those old photos and new clippings of that fascinating blue box there, but that was old news; probably some hoax, maybe even Derren Brown. He was surprised that Sherlock hadn't abandoned it yet. What he wasn't surprised about was the mess that the apartment was in, though he wasn't thoroughly impressed with it.

"Sherlock? I know you're bored, but really, you should be over trashing the place by now!"

He shuffled through to the kitchen and sat down on the closest chair that wasn't covered in what appeared to be chicken.

"Bloody experiments." He muttered.

Sherlock appeared from the other room and rubbed his forehead, looking decidedly happier than before, "how was your weekend away?" John opened his mouth to say something and Sherlock raised a hand, "don't, I know exactly how it was, and I know that I will find any stories you have to tell me very mediocre."

A wheezing noise began behind them but neither of them turned to look, John too busy being silently annoyed at his friend. Sherlock sighed in frustration.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, is there anything in the world even remotely interesting?"

"I could think of a thing or two." The Doctor stuck his head out of the TARDIS and John fell off his seat.

**December 19****th****, a small town in America; in front of a bar, just after lunch**

"It's a TARDIS." The tall man was wearing a bowtie and a tweed jacket, and unbelievably he was pulling it off, like no man should be able to.

"What?" Dean muttered; his eyes glued to the recently materialized blue box.

"This thing," The Doctor stroked it lovingly, "it's called a TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension In Space. It's a spaceship."

Sam scoffed. "It's a Phone Box. A bit small to be a spaceship, don't you think?" He risked a sideways glance at Dean, who was regaining his composure and closing his mouth.

"Nah, it's bigger than it looks." Clara grinned, stepping out of the TARDIS.

"Oh, honestly, could you be any more dramatic? Would you like some backing music?" The Doctor rolled his eyes and nudged her. She straightened up and the smile dropped from her face.

"That's weird, Doctor, these two guys, they remind me of some books that I used to read. About two brothers and they had a car… an old one, a classic... what was it again?" She looked down the road and saw the Impala standing out like a large black car against a pale backdrop. Which was exactly was it was.

"Oh my god, it was that car! Are you guys Winchester impersonators?"

Sam and Dean exchanged looks and rolled their eyes.

"No lady, we're the real deal." He didn't expect the girl to believe them, which she didn't.

"You're joking right; two brothers fighting demons and monsters, driving round America in a classic Impala just waiting for something exciting to happen? It's a bit, unrealistic, don't you think?"

The Doctor looked crestfallen, "What do we do all day every day?" A rhetorical question, but one which drew interested looks from the Winchesters.

"That's a good point, who the hell are you?" Dean raised his voice, expecting them to shrink back and maybe jump into the ridiculous box. On the contrary, the Doctor stepped forward, extending his hand in greeting.

"I'm the Doctor, I'm a Timelord from the planet Gallifrey, I have two hearts, a sonic screwdriver and a cool bow tie, and we need your help. This is my companion Clara; gorgeous, clever, slightly annoying sometimes and she is my _impossible _girl. You must be the Winchesters. I've been looking all over for you."

Clara laughed and then, when she saw that the Doctor was not, in fact, joking, she pulled him aside.

"Doctor, you're joking right? The Winchesters aren't real. They're just characters in an overdramatic book series."

"Hey, who're you calling overdramatic? That stuff all happened, so you can get you're pretty little panties out of that twist they're clearly in. Besides, what's more dramatic than a randomly appearing blue box?" Dean argued and Sam put a hand on his chest to stop him stepping forward.

"Good point." Clara conceded, "But… If you're real, that means all that stuff you did in those books was real which means that you've stopped the apocalypse, more than once. That's brilliant!"

"Thanks," Sam smiled, and Dean puffed out his chest in pride.

"Of course, you'll never have saved it as many times as us, and especially not the Doctor, but you've done pretty well so far. Don't be put out or anything, but saving the world is kind of our day job." Clara added, and Dean deflated. Sam stuttered and frowned, but the Doctor was more interested in his own agenda.

"So, Winchesters. I have a job for you, if you want one."

"What does this _job _involve?" Sam asked sceptically. The Doctor just smiled a mysterious smile and Dean caught sight of how old his eyes were. Those old eyes looked at the brothers and they sparkled with adventure.

"Lots of running."

**December 19****th**** 2013, three hours later, 221B Baker St**

Sherlock strode forward.

"How the hell did you get in here?"

"Trade secret. I could tell you, if you want, but that would defeat the purpose of the mystery, wouldn't it? Now, would you like something interesting to do or not?" The Doctor watched as Sherlock's face began to light up.

"Parlour tricks." Sherlock muttered scornfully, but the Doctor just shook his head. It was then that the Doctor noticed the photos and news-clippings of his TARDIS on the wall beside him. Watson stood and protested loudly, but Sherlock was already on a roll. He walked around the exterior of the TARDIS, talking to himself as he went.

"Can't have arrived via window or door, no way up without being noticed… must have… no, that's impossible… the technology is far too advanced… brilliant… absolutely not… oh of course."

"Well, Mr Holmes, have you come to any conclusions?" The Doctor asked, and Sherlock tilted his head.

"This is a spaceship, possibly one that travels in time, and you are not of this world."

"My goodness, you are as good as all the hearsay. And how do you figure this?"

"Well, there was no other way that you could have gotten in here other than materialization, because there's no clear pathway from the door, and we would have seen you come in. Though the ship is very small, probably just a one person vehicle, maybe a two person vehicle, it can travel very quickly and appear from nowhere, like a form of teleportation, so it's almost definitely from the future, yet the appearance it takes is from the 1950s or 60s, a London Police Box. A bit retro, don't you think? But proving my point that you a probably a time traveller, or just have really bad taste."

"Hey!" The Doctor protested.

"And as for you being alien, well that's obvious." He said with a flourish.

"It's not obvious to me, care to explain?" Watson growled.

"He's wearing a tweed jacket and a bow tie, what more do you want?" Sherlock replied bitingly, "Alright, apart from the ridiculous attire, which he manages to wear quite well, he's standing outside a piece of technology that is greatly advanced, which of course makes him advanced, but not many humans would want to give their ship the appearance of something so… old fashioned. Let alone that fact that he simply exudes power, which people just don't. But the real trick was the eyes."

"What about his eyes." John asked, stepping up to study them.

"Look at them John. Such old, ancient eyes, hidden in such a young face. No human's eyes are that old. Why you look human, though, is something I can't discern."

"Oi. You look Timelord, we were here first." The Doctor remarked, not for the first time in his life.

"Interesting. Timelords. Fascinating name. I'm guessing my time travel theory was correct, which means that you're here for a reason. What do you want?"

"Well, I'm partially here because I wanted to meet you Mr Holmes. You're something of a legend, but the main reason I arrived is because I have a mystery. A very fascinating mystery with a lot of things to solve. You in?"

Watson and Sherlock stepped forward, Watson albeit a little reluctantly.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

**The interior of the TARDIS, time and space in a state of temporal flux**

Dean sighed. "More people? Really, more?"

"Ah, yes, but these are special people. Ladies and Gentleman; Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson."

The TARDIS erupted in sound, everyone protesting or laughing or glaring at each other. Clara choked on the cup of tea she held in her hand and Dean groaned in apprehension, taking the cup from the girl.

Sam blinked a few times and once he'd regained his composure he stretched out a hand to the two new arrivals.

"So you're Sherlock Holmes. Wow. I read all the books; big fan." He grinned, a little shocked. Sherlock and Watson were introduced to everyone before they all gathered around the central console. Watson seemed a bit sick and Clara went and stood next to him, like she had done with Dean when he'd first stepped on.

"Weird isn't it? Don't worry, most people get like this when they first get on. Although Sherlock seems to have taken it in his stride quite well."

Indeed Sherlock was wandering around the room, staring at nozzles and switches and glancing furtively, trying to take everything in with one gaze.

"Alright, enough of the showing off," Dean turned to the Doctor, "Why are we here? You promised a job, but right now all we're doing is picking up supposedly mythical characters from books written 150 years ago."

"You're one to talk, handsome fictional demon fighter." Clara responded.

"Handsome?" Dean asked, a smile creeping to the corners of his mouth.

"Oh… shut up." She glared, but she wasn't serious and they both knew it. He found himself greatly warming to the pretty brunette, and she looked away hurriedly so as not to catch his eye for too long.

The Doctor stood in front of his tiny army and held out his hands.

"Dean and Sam Winchester, the most famous hunters in the universe, and Sherlock Holmes and John Watson of course need no introduction. You've asked why you're here? Something impossible. Something impossible and fascinating and very, very bad has happened, and I need your help. You guys are my dream team! Isn't that exciting?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and Sam sat back in anticipation of what was to happen next. The Doctor twiddled some switches and room became dark, a screen flaring to life in the centre.

_A demon stood at a crossroads at midnight, the only light cast by the moon. It was waiting for someone; this deal had been pre-arranged. Three minutes later, some walked up the north facing road. They were facing away from the camera, which was situated across from a closed convenience store. Words were exchanged, though there was no audio on the recording, and then the visitor turned and grabbed the demon, thrusting a knife into its belly and watched it writhe on the ground before walking off._

"So?" Sam said. "Probably just another hunter trying to get rid of a demon."

"Nope. See here's the thing. That recording was taken two nights ago, but according to the TARDIS, that particular exchange took place over 150 years ago. So how did that camera capture it? Because we've already been there and checked it out, and the readings are odd, but that's not even the impossible bit. Are you ready?"

The screen flickered to life again.

_Sam, Dean, Sherlock, John, The Doctor, Clara, River and Castiel all stood on that same crossroads, Sam, Dean and Castiel grabbing stuff from the trunk of the Impala, Sherlock and John checking their guns and The Doctor whipping his sonic screwdriver around, scanning everything, waiting for something to spark. A demon appeared at the beginning of each road, three men and a woman. Behind them were the Silence, some Cybermen, and what seemed to be the head honcho, and man in a neat black suit, walking slowly behind the rest, a crazy grin on his face. _

"Moriarty." Sherlock hissed; anger pasted across his face. Watson jumped forward and the Doctor put a hand on his arm.

"I know what he did to you. I know how much you despise him. But that's not Jim Moriarty. That's a demon possessing his body. And I'm sorry, but it's going to get a whole lot worse." The Doctor cringed.

"Worse? How could that possibly be worse?" Dean yelled. There was a rustling sound behind them and Castiel stepped into the room.

"A prophecy."

"Urgh, have I mentioned how much I hate those?" Dean spoke through his teeth, and Sam nodded.

"_Eight noble men and women,_

_Fighting evil's cause,_

_Eight start the fight; only five remain,_

_When the evening has reached its pause._

_One will die, one will fall,_

_One will escape this life,_

_The five remaining hold their breaths,_

_Until they've escaped all evil strife." _Cas rolled his eyes, "I don't understand why prophecies have to rhyme. So mediocre. An angel crafted this prophecy, so it should have had more class at least, but she chose to keep it tacky."

"Haven't I always said angels are dicks?" Dean caught Castiel's eye. "Exceptyou Cas. Although, sometimes…" He drifted off and Castiel glared, inducing a giggle from Clara. Dean winked and put one hand in the pocket of his jeans, both him and Sam having ditched the FBI suits. He was never surprised at how easily he drifted between the two, although he loved his casual demon fighting clothes much better.

His eyes flicked around the room, finally settling on Clara, and most prominently, her short black skirt, which showed off her long tanned legs. Dean coughed and averted his eyes, choosing to stare at one of the levers on the centre console instead of the gorgeous woman.

If Clara saw him looking, she didn't show it, just continued to stare straight ahead. Sherlock and the Doctor, however, glanced at each other knowingly and continued to discuss the prophecy.

"Falling. Haven't we had enough of falling." It wasn't a question. Sherlock scowled at the ground. "I need Molly, or Mary, or someone. Everyone in here is just… boring!" He began to pace and fidget, unable to keep still.

It was times like this that he remembered everything he'd been through, how many years he'd spent in Hell, the time he'd spent protecting his brother and screwing everything up anyway. He tried so hard and always seemed to fail in the long run. He struggled to stand but the blood was dripping down his legs and his vision was blurring. One of the many moments when it appeared that everything was lost, though usually Castiel or Crowley was there to prop him up, either from threats or friendship. Usually threats.


	2. TARDIS Blues

_**Hello! This chapter is just a bit of set-up with the characters getting to know each other – no crazy action yet, just a little. Next chapter there will be action I promise. Please let me know what kind of character interactions you want! **_

**.**

**The Interior of the TARDIS, Time and Space in a State of Temporal Flux**

The Doctor shrugged against his suspenders, yanking his bow tie forward only to place it neatly back around his throat. Castiel wandered around the control room and searched for the magic within the machinery. Unsurprisingly, there was a box simply brimming with the stuff hidden behind the wall, but as for the console itself – completely empty of magic. He glanced at Sam and Dean; always keen to watch them work, see their reactions; so very human.

Sam was keeping an eye on the only exit he could see, just in case this Doctor was not who he said he was. His eyes were dark and his smile forced although it was impossible to remove the curiosity, the doubt was taking over now the excitement had worn off. Dean, although keeping up the appearance of relaxation and ease, had his hand resting on the gun sitting snugly in its holster. He flicked up the collar of his jacket and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to relax.

Cas tilted his head and looked to the rest of the _dream team._

Clara had grabbed her tea back from Dean and was sipping it, looking at everyone else over the rim of the cup. She seemed to have her guard down, leaning against the console, grinning from ear to ear. Sherlock was staring at the Doctor as though trying to figure him out. Watson had his eyes locked on Sherlock, trying to decide if they were just going to accept the situation or if Sherlock would suddenly announce the Doctor as a fraud – decide that this was a ruse.

He was disappointed. Far from rejecting the reality, Sherlock seemed to be welcoming it with open arms, listening intently to everything the Doctor said.

The Doctor himself was absent-mindedly stroking the TARDIS and talking about time-shifts and Arthur Conan-Doyle – something about a hole in time projecting Sherlock's life back to Arthur who then wrote of his amazing deductive powers.

While he waved his hands around and contorted his face into elaborate expressions as he enunciated huge words and complicated phrases no-one understood, there was no way to read his emotion, but still Castiel stared.

And then, there it was.

When the Doctor was no longer the focus of the conversation, after the rest had begun to question Sherlock and Watson, Castiel watched as the Doctor's smile slipped. Not much, but just enough that his grief became visible – just for a split second – and his tired, old eyes blinked before pasting the smile on again. It was too late – Cas had seen the Doctor as he truly was – a heartbroken man trying desperately to block out his past while looking to the future. A man who would risk anything to save the life of another, while disregarding his own. The Doctor was old; old and sad and Castiel knew how that felt, at least to a certain extent. But where Cas had, after trying to connect with the brothers, only recently learned to care for people, the Doctor had been trying _not_ to his whole life.

The angel dragged his eyes away from the Timelord. His complexity was too distracting – he was an anomaly.

Dean glanced up at him and a grin glanced across his face. Sam looked over and the three of them laughed silently together, all baffled by the remarkable circumstances they found themselves in.

"Now, are we ready?" The Doctor grabbed Clara's hand and she put the cup down on the bench as he yanked her around the centre console. She grabbed one of the levers and pulled it while he flicked some switches on the other side.

The TARDIS began to wheeze and Clara laughed, pressing a large button. All of a sudden the TARDIS ground to a halt and began pinging. The blue glow all around them faded to orange and the Doctor froze.

"No! No, no, no, come on! No! Argh!" He moaned, smacking the console and Clara sighed loudly.

"See! I told you, she hates me." Clara gestured around her, "Even after I stopped being the impossible girl, she still hates me!"

Dean looked around but there was no-one there. Then it clicked, "She?" He smirked.

The Doctor wasn't listening, crouching underneath the button Clara had pressed, bashing something with a metal rod. The machine roared back to life, the blue lights burning again and Clara sighed, the second that night. It would most definitely not be the last.

"There you are Sexy! I knew you could do it." The Doctor stroked the TARDIS lovingly and Sam laughed.

"You are two peas in a pod!" He gestured at Dean who was still smiling and their faces split into grins, "You and your ship, him and his car, god I'm never gonna escape people who love lifeless objects."

The TARDIS screeched and everyone was thrown to the side. Dean's head cracked against the stairs and blood started trickling into his eyes. Clara's mug smashed against the floor and the Castiel disappeared. Sherlock and Watson were smashed together and landed in a heap against the railings. The Doctor had a hold of Clara and was keeping them safe held against the centre console. Sam flew past and his shoulder hit the wall, dislocating with a loud pop.

Everyone sat up gasping as the TARDIS settled.

"What the HELL!?"


	3. Hell Lives in France

**Sorry about the big gap between updates but I was in Indonesia for a while. So this has a bit more action in it, but what do you think about something happening between Dean and Clara? Please review, I have way too many ideas for this story and I need to know which ****direction to steer it in. Thank you, enjoy .**

**The Interior of the TARDIS, Time and Space in a state of Temporal Flux**

"What the HELL!?" Dean wiped the blood from his eyelids, smearing it across his temples and pressed his hand to the wound to stop the bleeding. Clara extracted herself from the Doctor's arm and rushed over to him. She leaned in and Watson stumbled towards them to check him over and he stepped to the side, "I'm fine, don't worry. I've had worse."

Watson shrugged, "I don't care, I'm a doctor and you've been injured." Dean muttered profanities under his breath and shook his head.

"My brother – go help Sam." He grumbled and Watson looked around. Sam was nowhere to be seen. He strode off looking for him as Sherlock dusted off his jacket, seemingly uninjured.

Clara skipped away and returned with a cloth and some water. She handed it to Dean who washed the abrasion carefully and stood up, "I'll say it again for those who didn't hear me; What the HELL just happened?"

The Doctor spun a wheel and tapped some keys and the TARDIS whooshed. "I believe your brother upset my TARDIS."

"WHAT?" Dean stared, confounded.

Clara sighed again and sat down rubbing her arm where the Doctor had pinched it to stop her hitting the wall. The man himself was stalking around the ship, stroking it and murmuring soothing words.

"The TARDIS isn't lifeless, or inanimate. She has a life of her own, kind of. She doesn't appreciate being called lifeless." Clara said and rolled her eyes.

"But…" Dean felt a headache coming on, "Seriously?"

"Yeah. She doesn't like me either, although you probably heard me say that before." She stretched.

"Yeah, yeah I did. Are you alright?" He asked, looking her up and down and she smiled.

"Absolutely fine, the Doctor grabbed me before _She _managed to throw me. He was anticipating it."

Dean raised an eyebrow and nodded. Watson yelled from across the room and everyone turned. Sam was conscious but he was gripping his shoulder and his arm was bent at an odd angle. Clara took a sharp breath and Dean jumped over the railing to the floor below. Watson said something to him and he laughed bitterly and shook his head. Watson stepped back and Dean knelt down next to his brother. Sam gritted his teeth.

The shoulder was returned to its place with a crack.

Sam yelled and Dean helped him up. The two of them jumped back to stand with the others and the Doctor turned around with a big frown on his face. Clara took a hesitant step backwards at his expression and became acutely aware of the tall man behind her.

Dean glanced down at her hair and quickly snapped his eyes back up to the console. "_Eye on the job, idjit!"_ he could almost hear Bobby saying. Sam sniggered at them and crossed his newly fixed arms.

"There has been a bit of a… development." The Doctor said nervously. Clara pushed a lock of hair behind her ears and Dean found himself following the movement of her hand. The Doctor cleared his throat, "The TARDIS… she's… stuck."

Watson scoffed and smacked the railing next to him, "Where?"

"When, I suppose, is the more pertinent question." Sherlock ruffled his dark curls and adjusted his coat at the same time as the Doctor ran his fingers through his hair and pulled his suspenders. They glanced at each other in surprise and Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"When is right, Sherry." The Doctor grinned.

"No. We are not calling me Sherry. That's ridiculous." Sherlock scowled.

"Oh I don't know, I kinda like it." Watson hid a smile behind his hand and everyone relaxed enough for the tension to slip. Somehow the past ten minutes were forgotten and it was the same as when they'd stepped into the TARDIS initially. Then they remembered why they were there.

"We are in France in 1944, and right outside these doors, there is most likely a horrible war going on. So when we leave we need to quickly duck into the building to the left. Everyone okay with that?"

"But what happens if the TARDI-thingy gets hit with a bomb? It's made of wood on the outside."

"No it isn't. It's one of the most powerful ships in the universe and it would take a lot more than one of your ridiculous Earth-made missiles to take it out. Hell, this thing has survived supernovas erupting." The Doctor's voice filled with pride and Clara tapped her feet.

The six of them walked towards the exit and the door creaked open. Watson was the first out, bolting for the small café beside them, diving in a side door. Now that they weren't inside the airtight ship they could hear the bombs going off and they could smell the scent of death and destructions coupled with gunpowder. Dean and Sam strode out next, Dean pulling Clara beside him, covering her while he waved his gun in all directions. Sherlock and the Doctor stepped out last, the Doctor locking the TARDIS behind him. He turned and saw a small girl standing in the entrance to the alleyway, staring at him in astonishment.

"How did you do that?" She was a French girl, "Are you magic?"

"Yes," the Doctor said and knelt down, "We are magic, and we're here to help you, I promise. You don't have to live in fear for much longer. The war is almost over. Soon you will be free to run through the fields again." He smiled at her reassuringly and her face split into a huge grin. She laughed as she skipped out of the alleyway across the road to a house which was undoubtedly her own. The Doctor straightened and Sherlock tilted his head, observing the man. The pair walked into the café with the others.

Dean and Clara were standing by the counter trying to talk to the manager who was being very unreceptive and kept telling them to leave. Sam was kicking back on an armchair and Watson was standing rigidly behind him staring out of the window, his jaw strung taught, hands balled into fists.

Sherlock glanced his way and shook his head.

"So sailor, what's the plan here," Clara leaned closer to Dean as she spoke, but her eyes never left the Doctor as he paced.

"What?"

"You still haven't let go of my hand." She whispered and his head whipped downwards. He quickly extracted himself from her grip and winced.

"Sorry, just… protecting you?" He tried, but the moment the words escaped his lips he knew she wasn't buying it. She nodded along anyway, a glimmer tweaking the corners of her mouth.

The manager had disappeared but all of them were too busy talking to work out where he'd gone. That was, until he returned with a double barreled shotgun.

"YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE," he screamed, "YOU WILL BRING NAZI HELL DOWN ON US. LEAVE!"

They raised their hands in defeat but he swung it around and they all flinched, trying to avoid its metal gaze. The man was visibly shaking, terrified of the world around him, driven mad by years of hiding from a war that was literally right on his doorstep. Bombs had gone off in their street, that much was obvious – miscalculations from the battlefield that was only 50 miles away. Never any silence or stress-relief; living in a state of constant terror just waiting for the end to come.

Watson walked forwards, ignoring the barrel as it spun level with his chest, "It's okay." He said to the man soothingly. The manager shook his head violently and tightened his finger on the trigger. Watson froze and made sure that his palms were facing the man. He leaned forwards and stepped just an inch closer.

"It's okay sir. Everything is going to be fine, I promise. I just need you to put down the gun." As he said the words he took a fast step forwards, sidestepping the gun as it went off and yanking it from the man's arms. The poor gentleman fell to the ground in a dead faint, convinced that he'd just killed someone. In actuality the bullet had missed all six of the newcomers, lodging itself into the wall behind them. They breathed a sigh of relief and Watson disengaged the gun but did not put it down.

His instincts were kicking in now, back in the warzone. He was ready to do whatever it took to keep the other five people safe and he was not about to relieve himself of the only weapon he'd seen since he left London, except the small pistol in his pocket. The Doctor, however, had other ideas.

"No, no, no guns. No guns. I don't do weapons. Nope." He waved his arms about wildly and Sam gestured at the sonic screwdriver in his hand.

"What about that?"

"This? This isn't a weapon, it's a screwdriver. Sorry to disappoint. Actually… who in this room has a weapon?" He asked.

Sam and Dean pulled their guns from their holsters and Watson removed the pistol from his pocket. Sherlock just shrugged and Clara sat down on an armchair next to Sam. The Doctor sighed in resignation and the men hid their firepower.

The beginnings of a plan were forming in the Doctor's head, but it was just an idea. Nothing concrete, not until he knew exactly what he was up against. He knew a lot about the horrors of the universe, but this was the first time he'd dealt with a demon possessing the body of a fictional character that turned out to be real and living in the 21st century. Actually, he wasn't sure of anything anymore. He turned to ask for the Winchesters' information on demons when a small breath of wind hit his back and the gentlemen jumped up and pointed their guns behind him. He turned.

"Hello boys!" Crowley grinned, holding a knife to Castiel's throat.


End file.
